


In The Beginning

by lycheeloving



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Evolution
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Multi, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycheeloving/pseuds/lycheeloving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, the Xavier Institute was a lonely mansion housing only three - sometimes four - grown mutants living within its quiet walls... Set early pre-Evo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. choosing sides

It'd been a hell of a night. He may not have all his memories intact for comparison, but he's pretty sure he's never had to deal with astral projections speaking to him in his head, or bucketheaded war-freaks descending ominously from the sky. Or women with mile-long legs floating down on an off-season breeze...

He'd been on the run from some feds who somehow caught and sedated him after his claws aroused suspicion during his last cage match. How and why they brought him across the border and clear across the US was beyond him; all he knew was government feds were bad news, no matter what the country.

He'd just lost them when a vision in a purple turtleneck and faded grey jeans came floating down to him on a breeze so fresh, it had no business in the backstreets of New York. The claws came out in an instant, but she didn't seem alarmed. In fact, she'd been the one to ask him not to be afraid when she offered help, her lightly accented voice a smooth and calming alto.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. A voice in his head was speaking about evolution and genetics and mutations, when a man in a metal helmet and yet another leggy beauty with a dangerous smile and gleaming blue skin appeared as well, both talking about a coming war...

In the end, he'd been offered two options: Join one to fight on the "right" side of a coming war, or join the other to help keep the peace.

( _\- it doesn't have to be a case of us versus them._ )

Even without the strange astral projection's voice in his head, it wasn't much of a decision. He may not remember much, but even from the little he could recall? War was ugly, and somehow he knew that he'd seen enough of it to last several lifetimes.

Once the freak in the bucket had flown off in disgust, the oddly comforting voice in his head began explaining things in more detail. He was a mutant, the next step in evolution. More importantly, he wasn't alone. And despite the words thrown around in the altercation in the alley, he was being given another chance to make a choice. Charles Xavier wasn't about to force him into joining his cause. He was, however, prepared to offer him a place to stay for the night - a safe place, no strings attached, until he could decide for himself what he would do, where he would go.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd been offered that. Not even Fury was so generous.

The lady with beautiful white hair was looking at him expectantly.

"Charles Xavier is a good man, Mr. Logan," she began, her startlingly blue eyes warm and sincere in the light of a flickering street lamp. "I know it's quite a lot to take in, and I am not asking you to put your trust in him right at this moment... All I ask is that you give him a chance, and listen to what he has to say."

With that, she'd offered a hand for him to take. Had anyone else ever done that for him? Not in recent memory - not that he had very many memories, to begin with.

He grasps her hand; both his eyebrows go up at how firm her grip is. She smiles at his surprise, and her blue, blue eyes seem to gleam with the promise of tomorrow.


	2. tempest in a teapot

It was eight hours now since his back-alley encounter with the beautiful white-haired woman and the strange, calming voice in his head that claimed to want to help him. Six hours since he'd first stepped foot into this small but elegant one-story townhouse along Fifth and Main. Five, since he'd taken the first hot shower he'd had in months, and promptly passed out onto the clean sheets of a soft bed. Talk would have to wait; his healing factor could fix up everything from scrapes to broken bones, but it couldn't heal exhaustion.

Early dawn light streaming through clear, glass windowpanes woke him up with a start. A quick glance around the small guestroom told him no, he wasn't being chased, or on a mission (favor) for Fury or in some rundown cheap motel. Weird.

There was a change of clothes thoughtfully folded on the chair by window. He pulled the white tank on - running around shirtless around urban New York got old really quickly - but quickly shucked on his own jeans, contemplating the situation he'd found himself in.

He wasn't normally one to trust so easily, but there was something about the bald man in the wheelchair that didn't have his hackles rising. At least enough to take him up on his offer to explain things in further detail. He was, after all, the first person to claim to have some sort of explanation for the blades that rested between his knuckles. Mutant, he'd said, with no amount of suspicion or malice, but instead with a measure of understanding and kindness. Logan's head was telling him he was making a rookie mistake, shacking up with people he barely knew, but gut instinct was telling him to hear them out, listen to what they had to say. And, in his (short) experience, instinct was always right.

Dressed now, he made for the door. He'd barely taken a step out the room when the wheel-chair bound man he recongized from last night turned from the nearest corner. He smelled like old books and aftershave.

"Good morning, Logan." He said, smiling. "I was just on my way to see if you would join us for breakfast."

The rumble of his stomach answered that question for him, and he shrugged. "S'long as the food comes with some answers, sure."

Xavier gave him an answering smile and maneuvered his chair around to face the way he came. "Of course. This way, then, if you please."

"You'll have to excuse the crampedness," the bald man was saying smilingly. Except it wasn't cramped at all, with hallways wide enough to allow the berth of his chair to make smooth U-turns with relative ease. "This house rarely sees activity outside of myself and a bi-weekly housekeeper. It's only in use for when I have a string of lectures to give at the universities in the area."

Oh, so he was that kind of professor. Explained the funny smell of books and old leather that clung to him. Charles gave him an amused sort of grin.

"And the lady, the flying one - 'Roro, or something? - What's her deal?"

"Miss Ororo Munroe," he clarified with a smile. "a graduate student that I met by chance at her university. A fine young woman, if I ever met one. She was using her own mutant powers to save a student trapped in the flaming wreckage of a car when I first met her..."

"Yeah?" He wondered what she could do; apparently there was more to her than flying and looking damn fine.

Charles arched an eyebrow at him. "There is indeed much more to her than that. Miss Munroe can manipulate the weather at will."

Logan blinked, the statement so absurd that he barely registered that Xavier was answering his questions as he thought them. "She can control the weather?"

"Indeed." The telepath's smile was as subdued as ever, but the light in his eyes was excited. "And it seems that her control is so great, she can quite literally create a tempest in a teapot."

A soft, throaty chuckle came from inside of the next doorway. His nose told him it was a kitchen, if the fresh scent of eggs and bacon was any indication. Two purposeful steps brought him within view of the small kitchenette, where Flying Lady was setting a table for three.

"You flatter me, Professor." She remarked, bowing her head modestly.

"But it's true," Xavier had turned to Logan then, leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together before him. "You've seen her floating on winds of her own making. It would be a fair assumption to say she could conjure them on a smaller scale."

Ororo gave him a faintly amused smile before she turned to address Logan. "You will have to excuse Professor Xavier. I've only just met him myself, but already I've noticed how excited he gets over the prospect of learning about new powers..."

"Yeah, it isn't obvious or nothin'," He would've rolled his eyes, but he found he couldn't look away from hers. Her eyes were a beautiful ocean blue.

She arched an eyebrow at him curiously. "... Yes?"

Had he been staring stupidly at her? "... Was just wonderin' if you could." He said, gruffly tearing his eyes away and looking somewhere, anywhere else. "Uh, do that tempest in a teacup shit."

Her brow rose ever higher. "Is that a challenge?"

"I dunno, darlin'." He swung his eyes back to her and raised an eyebrow right back. "S'only a challenge if you can't do it."

She paused and gave him a long look; she was tall, taller than him and the Prof on his chair, so it gave an effect of her looking down on them both, like a queen surveying her subjects from a high pedestal. Were he a lesser man, he would have fidgeted in his place.

But then she turned to the nearest cup - she had filled it with coffee only moments prior - and gestured with one hand, thumb and first two fingers up. With a slight tilt to her wrist, the air before her began to swirl into a tiny cyclone, about five inches in height. Her dark lips parted and she blew a gentle gust to help it move along towards the cup where it made a neat water landing. In seconds, she had a miniature water spout forming within the confines of the delicate piece of china, not even a single drop of coffee landing on the table.

Beside him, Charles brought his hands together in a slow clap, smiling appreciatively. Logan glanced once at him, then at the woman who was calming the tiny tempest down with a graceful wave of her hands. It was only then he noticed the eerie, electric white glow of her formerly blue eyes. Damn.

"Amazing," Charles said, beaming. "Was that not amazing, Logan? The level of control over that kind of ability, truly astounding."

"Yeah," He echoed faintly, blinking in awe. "Great stuff."

Ororo smiled blushingly. "Thank you," she remarked. "Though I must note, it took many years before I could even achieve that kind of control. If anyone is deserving of praise, it would be those who have helped me harness this power."

At this, Charles clasped his hands back together. His smile was sincere, eyes bright.

"Yes, which is exactly what I mean to discuss with the two of you, today..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles' tiny townhouse is completely made up. I didn't like the idea of him living all alone in a large and lonely ancestral mansion, all day everyday, until he would find the first of his X-Men.


	3. breakfast at xavier's

The clock in the kitchen read five-to-seven, Ororo noted as she pushed a stray lock of damp hair behind an ear. She finished early, today. Her daily morning jogs had yet to fall into a consistent routine as she was still determining a good route to follow around the mansion's grounds. Running on uneven terrain was something she needed to reacquaint herself with, she mused as she leaned on the doorjamb to rub the soles of her feet. Charles had vague plans of adding a levelled track in the massive backyard, but like most everything in the opulent mansion, it was a work in progress. Still, running made for good endurance training, and it was something practically anyone could do… Perhaps they could move it up on their list of things to do.

"Mornin', 'Ro." Logan ambled in, morning paper in hand. He dropped it onto the table where he knew the Professor would find it.

"Good morning to you too, Logan." She smiled broadly, pleasantly surprised at his presence. It wasn't often that he was around the kitchen, at this time. She learned early on that the mysterious Logan was not exactly the most personable of people. He kept to himself, and Ororo gave him space.

"Charles should be down in a few moments. Would you like to join us for breakfast?" She moved around the island counter, taking a loaf of bread and a bag of bagels down from the pantry.

He paused, and Ororo saw him glance towards the garage door.

"Unless you're busy, of course," she amended as she took an apron from a rack.

Obviously he noted the tone of challenge in her voice. He raised one eyebrow at her and shrugged. "S'long as you don' make me wear one'a those sissy aprons, darlin', sure."

Soon, the fresh scent of Arabica coffee filtered through the kitchen, and Ororo had some eggs poaching in a pot of water over the stove. "Charles likes his eggs poached," she said conversationally. "I prefer mine sunny side up. You?"

When he didn't answer, she turned from the stove and found him busily going through the fridge's contents.

"Whatever are you looking for, Logan?"

"Meat. Tell me we have actual meat in here."

She smiled. "I believe we have some bacon in the freezer. Pass them over to me, I will toss them into the pan with our eggs." She broke one into the Teflon. "You didn't answer me, Logan. How do you take yours?"

His voice was muffled. "Scrambled… aha." He emerged from within the fridge holding a packet of bacon. "I like 'em scrambled, hard." he repeated, grinning. The slight inflection on his last word did not go unmissed by Ororo, but she hid away her own smile. Now was not the time.

He set the packet down on the counter to thaw. Ororo tsk'ed and waved the hand that wasn't minding her frying pan over its general direction. A pocket of warm air formed around the bacon, and the ice started to melt in seconds.

"Show-off."

She grinned.

That was the scene that greeted Charles as he entered the kitchen. He paused just inside the doorway, watching as toast popped out of the toaster. Logan caught them easily, in a waiting plate without even sparing it a glance, his eyes making sure he didn't spill the eggs he was expertly whisking with a fork, one-handed, in a small bowl. Meanwhile, Ororo was sliding a sunny side up into a plate and promptly laying out several strips of bacon to sizzle in its place. They greeted him in tandem, without looking up from what they were doing.

"Mornin', Chuck."

"Good morning, Charles."

Charles would have been slightly offended, if the scene weren't so amusing, quaint and borderline domestic.

He smiled openly. "Good morning, Ororo. Logan. Breakfast smells wonderful." He wheeled himself to his place at the kitchen table, skillfully maneuvering around the two. Logan had passed off his bowl of egg to Ororo, who poured it into the pan that his bacon had just vacated. She instinctively moved aside so her partner could reach where the coffee had finished brewing. He took the carafe as well as three cups and moved to join Charles at the table.

"Cream or sugar, darlin'?"

Charles couldn't help it, he laughed quietly. Logan and Ororo finally paused and turned to him as one, quirking one eyebrow each.

"What's so funny, Chuck?"

"Nothing." His eyes twinkled. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you two seem to work just as well in the kitchen as you do on the field."


	4. better than Bond

Logan whistled. " _Nice_ plane, Chuck."

The sleek, black jet gleamed under the harsh florescent lights of the hangar that the Professor had brought both Storm and Wolverine to visit. He chuckled. "Magneto's exploits have been getting more and more ambitious as of late." he said, as he followed his two companions at a more sedate pace as they approached the plane. "I felt that we may need certain resources if we want to keep up with him."

"So you step up the game and got us an honest-to-god SR-77." Logan smirked and shook his head. Must be nice to be able to afford military planes at the drop of a penny...

Even Ororo was in awe; it was her first time to see such a thing up close. "And who will be piloting the jet, Charles? If you do not mind my asking."

The Professor cleared his throat. "I may not look like it, but-"

"Woah, woah woah." Logan interrupted, and turned to stare at the Professor. " _You_ know how to pilot one of these planes, Charles?"

He smiled. "As it happens, I do. We flew a few of these in Vietnam..."

Both gave him equally surprised looks. "... Although I suppose this Blackbird here is in a class of its own, when compared to the earlier model..."

"It's amazing, Charles. But wherever are we going to keep this?" _God bless her little heart,_ Logan thought, _but sometimes 'Ro sounded just like a mother._

"I've already spoken to our engineers and contacted the contruction company about a hangar for the Institute, my dear Ororo."

Understanding flashed in her eyes. "Then I am to guess that the construction in your mansion is more than just simply expanding the basement..."

"An underground hangar, eh, Chuck?" Logan was clearly impressed. Damn. "Damn."

"Yes; there will be an exit for take offs that opens in the waterfall behind the grounds. I am thinking of installing another on the lawn for vertical take-offs, as well..."

"Shit, Chuck. James Bond's got nothing on us!" (Ororo swatted his arm. "Logan, language!")

Charles chuckled. "I'm hoping to relocate the latest Cerebro prototype into the sublevels some time in the future. There are also blueprints for a fully stocked infirmary in the works."

Ororo nodded. With Magneto's recent burst of activity, they would definitely be needing the latter.

"In any case, I am thinking of enrolling the both of you in aviation classes. What do you think? It would be best if you two are licensed pilots, I feel."

"Nah." Wolverine smirked. "I may not remember everything, but I do know for a fact I can probably pilot this baby," He had S.H.I.E.L.D. to thank for that knowledge. "As for why I can, though, I ain't rightly sure."

The Professor nodded. "I expected as much, but I hadn't been certain." He turned to Ororo, but she had taken a few steps forward to have a closer look at the plane. "And you, my dear? How do you feel about learning how to fly a jet?"

Logan watched her lift off from the ground in a smooth arc. "You really gotta ask that, Charles? Can't imagine it'll hold a candle to literally flying."

Charles chuckled. "Of course. Even still..."

Ororo had floated up to the nose of the jet and laid one careful hand on the gleaming metal. "I can't say I've ever in my wildest dreams thought I would learn how to fly a plane, Charles." She turned to look back down at the two on the ground. "But it would be a helpful skill to learn..."

Charles clasped his hands together, smiling brightly. "I'm glad to hear that. I shall sign you up for lessons as soon as possible, then."

"Can Logan not teach me?" She tilted her head his way curiously.

Logan blinked. "M'not much of a teacher, 'Ro."

She chose that moment to start her descent towards them. "Lessons cost money. Why spend when we have two experienced pilots right here?"

Charles glanced between them thoughtfully. "You know that money is not an issue, Ororo. Though you do make a fair point..."

She had her head bowed slightly as her feet touched the ground. "And although I hate to mention it, I'm not certain I would be comfortable with anyone else..." She'd made mention of her struggle with small, enclosed spaces to them before. He felt like there was more to it than what little she told them; looks like he was right. A Blackbird's cockpit was far from tiny, but it was probably the thought of prolonged periods of time in flight with recycled air and not much room to move with a stranger... Logan shook his head at himself, how did that slip his mind?

"Not much of a teacher," he repeated, shrugging, "But between the two of us I figure we could make it work somehow. Not that I'm complainin'; can't say I'm opposed to having private lessons with you, darlin'. It'll be fun." He grinned.

She playfully rolled her eyes at him before speaking to Charles again about how the dynamics of this would now work. Logan tuned them out; he was just happy to note that not only did her cheeks color the faintest bit at his choice of words, she hadn't denied anything.

He hadn't signed up for this when he agreed to stay with the Professor, but this was all turning out to be a lot more fun than he'd expected it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't you ever wondered the how and why behind the mansion's elaborate structure and architecture? Seriously, what did Charles Xavier have to do to convince various engineers and construction companies to build him an underground hangar complete with secret hidden waterfall entrance/exit...
> 
> Also, I realized I Didn't Do The Research after I wrote this, oops. I have no idea how acquiring a license for flying a plane would work. Do you need special classes from a licensed teacher? Can you show up at flight school already knowing how and just take a test to qualify for a license? I have no idea. Let's say the Prof pulled some (mental) strings and got them licenses in a jiffy or something.
> 
> And please don't lynch me if I got my facts wrong for what I did end up doing research for; SR-71's were indeed used in recon missions over North Vietnam in the late sixties to early seventies. I know 616!Xavier was drafted into the Korean War, but Evo is set in the early 2000's. I figured it make more sense if he was born a little later, and thus drafted into the Vietnam War instead.


	5. it had to be you

It's after one of his days-long motorcycle rides that he catches her just as she is sitting before the beautiful black grand piano. He stops literally mid-step as he passes by the entrance of the rec room, and she raises one perfect eyebrow at him. He can tell that she's trying her damnedest not to grin at his expense.

"Will you be standing there all day, Wolverine, or will you be coming in to join me?"

He tries to glare at her, but all he can manage is a halfhearted scowl. "Well, since ya asked so nicely..."

He steps inside, glad he wiped his boots at the door, for once. The flooring of the rec room is shiny and well-polished. Seeing her sit down to the grand piano by the large bay window with the light of the setting sun behind her - it looks almost like something out of a painting.

"So, you gonna give us a show, darlin'?"

She's busy running her hands delicately and almost reverently along the ivory keys. "Mm... Charles has already wrangled me into promising you and he one, actually. I'm afraid I'm slightly out of practice, however."

"S'that so?" She looks like the sort who'd be good at that kinda thing without even trying. He walks over to sit on a worn, leather armchair not five feet from where she is, making himself comfortable and putting his feet up on the matching ottoman. "Best way to fix that is to get back into practice, eh?"

She slanted her gaze to him. "That was the idea, yes. Of course, I hadn't counted on you getting to hear me already... This was supposed to be a private rehearsal."

He grins. "Shame that I ain't planning on goin' anywhere just yet, then." He grins when he sees a bit of color rise to her cheeks. Who knew it'd be so fun to get a rise out of the normally calm weather witch? "Come on then, let's hear it."

She shakes her head, resigned, before clearing her throat awkwardly. She refused to wonder what it was about this gruff, burly man that flustered her so easily, when it normally took a lot to do that.

The first notes of a simple, hopeful melody wash over him like rain as he leans back into his chair, shutting his eyes. He'd been right - she sounded pretty good for someone claiming to be rusty at it. Not that he'd know anything about music like that. He's more of a big band kinda guy himself, and he tells her as much once the last notes of the classical piece fades away. And she just smiles - like she'd won a bet with herself or something, before smoothly settling into the beginning of another song. It's one, he realizes with some surprise, that he recognizes. A slower version, but the melody is unmistakable. He nearly catches himself murmuring the lyrics.

When the song comes to a close. He speaks up, and is a little shocked at how his voice is nothing but a soft, gruff whisper.

"Where'd ya learn to play like that, darlin'?"

His eyes are still peacefully shut, but he doesn't miss her quiet chuckle. He doesn't need to open his eyes, either, to hear the smile in her voice.

"My sister's mother-in-law had a piano. We stayed with them a few years, when we first moved back to America..."

She begins another song, this one much softer than the first two - a lullaby. She continues.

"For a while, they seemed a little frightened of me... This foreign teenager with strange hair and eyes... speaking to everyone as if they were all beneath her." She shook her head.

"And then one day, she caught me touching the keys of the piano. I was just curious. I have dim memories of my father playing for my mother, you see. It was so long ago..."

"But Vi's mother-in-law was a music teacher. When she figured out that I wanted to learn... Well, we got along quite well, after that. I think she was just overjoyed that she had a willing student right in her own home. Vi was ecstatic; apparently father attempted to teach her long ago, but she had absolutely no patience for it, she told me. She was glad that our father's talent somehow survived through me..."

Her lullaby comes to an end. When she glances back at Logan, he was already sitting up, eyes on her and obviously listening attentively.

She managed a little smile that crinkled her blue eyes. She held out one finger, while she twisted on the piano bench so she could pull out a wallet from her back pocket. A picture was taken carefully from where it was tucked neatly into its photosleeve, and she motioned him closer.

There was a young teenager with white hair in two braids and laughing, blue eyes sitting at a modest, upright piano. On her lap was a little boy with bleach blond hair, not two years of age by the looks of it. He had his tiny hands lying over hers on the shiny white keys, looking for all the world like he'd just discovered the world's secrets in what they were doing.

"My nephew, Evan." She smiled fondly. "I was 'teaching' him, so to speak. Chopsticks was a delight to play; the first song I could play, of course, and the only piece he can play today..."

-x-

She doesn't play often. If you need to find 'Ro, she's more likely to be outside than indoors, up to her elbows in dirt while she tends to garden. Or learning how to pilot the Blackbird. Or helping Chuck choose gender-friendly color schemes for the bedrooms on the second floor. Him, he's busy with Charles' pet project Danger Room, beefing up the security system and scouting out the outskirts of Bayville for a bar that actually serves up halfway-decent beer.

When she does play, however, it's always late at night. He knows Chuck goes down there to listen, sometimes. Sometimes he even joins them, staking a claim on the leather chair he sat on that first night. Usually, she plays for an empty room, filling the for-now empty halls of the mansion with the soothing sound of Chopin or Sinatra, or whatever nameless tunes she comes up with in spontaneaity.

He finds himself looking forward to those nights as he lies in bed, sharp hearing catching the lilting tunes from his room on the second level. Part of him wants badly to ask why, on those nights that she plays for no one but herself, she plays such goddamned sad songs. A smaller part decides not to, for fear that she'd stop.

They're some of the only nights that he manages to get any sleep at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the episode "Spykecam", we see that Ororo can play the piano. I kind of WTF'd at that, then made myself come up with an explanation of why she'd be able to, considering her history... This was the result!


	6. interlude: wanderlust

He leaves a lot. Sometimes he is gone for days at a time. He always phones, though, when he figures he won't be back by dinner. Even if he can never give an estimated time of return, he can at least promise he would be back.

"Where do you go?" She wonders aloud, once. It's late at night, and they're both sitting at the kitchen table when they should be at least trying to get some sleep. A beer is halfway to his lips when he turns to look at her, wondering where the question had come from.

"Where do I go?" He hates himself as soon as the words leave his lips; he hates it when people repeat questions stupidly like that.

"Mm-hmm. When you go off on that infernal bike of yours." She is smiling a little now, though she still hasn't met his eyes.

He turns his own eyes to the window, to the sky that she's gazing so intently up at. He doesn't answer right away, because he doesn't have an answer for her.

"Hnnh. Nowhere, really." He isn't sure how to explain himself, though he wishes he could explain the restless need to get out for a bit, to escape.

But she just nods.

"I do not like being caged either."

He turns back to her, surprised, but she's still looking up at the clouds.


	7. tea and beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit embarrassed at how cliche this chapter is. but I've posted it as I'd written it a couple of years ago! Please don't judge too harshly, haha.

He was lying awake in bed when he first heard it: the softest of cries, piercing through the night. Logan sat up abruptly, what was tha-...

 _Logan, it's Ororo_.

He stifled the urge to swear out loud. This sudden voices-in-his-head business was taking some getting used to...

Still, he was already getting out of bed and halfway to the door when he acknowledged the mental call.  _Yeah? What was your first clue, Chuck?_  The sound was decidedly feminine, and she was only the sole female resident of the mansion. Of course it was Ororo.

He could practically see Charles shaking his head.  _Her nightmares are particularly fierce, this evening_.

That made him pause. Nightmares? Ororo had bad dreams?

_Yes. She hasn't come to me about them, and I hadn't wanted to pry as she seemed to have things under control, but..._

_Lemme guess, it's never been this bad before?_

_No_.

Silence descended between them, until the soft, agitated moan of someone struggling to wake from sleep started up once again. Anybody else would have missed it, but Ororo shared a very quiet house with a gifted telepath and a man with exceptional hearing.

_If you would, Logan..._

He grumbled; he was already going to wake her before Chuck went and interrupted him.

 _Tread carefully,_  Charles advised.  _I would calm her myself, but her mind is in turmoil... She won't let me in. If you need me present, I will be there soon as I am able._  Getting from his bed and into his wheelchair may have been made easy with years of practice but it remained a time-consuming process, still.

 _You're not coming?_ What? He had no idea how to deal with emotionally distraught women. Didn't know the first thing about it.

 _I do not wish to crowd her. Don't worry, Logan, you will manage_. The benevolent smile in his voice made Logan seriously want to gut something. In fact, he nearly did in the fern standing outside her door.

_... I wouldn't, Logan. Ororo does not take to plant cruelty very kindly._

Damn.

_-x-_

It started as it always did; in the dark.

She would try to stretch out her arms before her somehow, but always found that she could barely move. It wasn't that she was tied down, but she may as well have been, with an unseen weight steadily pressing down on her on all sides. Stilling her breath, then stealing the very air from her lungs with every panicked gasp and pant.

And then, the voices. Whispers, starting faint and all around her, until one rose above the rest -

_It will be all right, Ororo,_

... Her mother's voice! Meant to be reassuring, she knew, but -

_Be brave, my Ororo!_

_-_ Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?

_Be strong for Mother, Ororo!_

\- Was she leaving her to the shadows and the  _dark_  and the  _small_  all over again...?

" _Ororo!_ "

_-x-_

She woke with a jerk and gasp, sitting up in bed, trying to catch her breath by taking in large gulps of air. Her heart was pounding, and she looked around wildly. For a moment, she didn't recognize the large, spacious room she woke in. All she saw was shadow, and it seemed to converge in on her, threatening to engulf her in darkness...

"Ororo. Hey, come on. It's okay, Ororo. It was just a dream."

Slowly she became aware of the large hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"That's it, come on darlin'. Deep breaths."

She turned and met concerned, slate grey eyes.

"Logan...?"

He smiled crookedly.

"Mornin', darlin'. Bad dream?"

_-x-_

As it turns out, it wasn't quite morning, if the dark skies Ororo could see outside the windows were any indication. The clock in the kitchen told her it was half past three.

She wasn't sure how he managed to get her there, but the now-familiar sight of the kitchen was comforting, she realized. When she had a moment to get her bearings, she attempted to fix herself a cup of tea. What she got for her efforts was a glare that said, _'Are you serious?'_ , and suddenly she was sitting down at the table while he fixed the tea for her.

A few minutes later, he set the pot and a steaming cup before her, and sat across the table, beer in hand. Her gaze was a million miles away.

"Hey, you all right?"

There was no response for a few seconds, long enough for him to frown in concern. Just as he was about to ask again, she blinked and re-focused on him.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I didn't mean to ignore you just now; Charles was just checking in."

 _Figures_. He scowled. "I hate when he does that. Feels weird, having voices in your head."

She picked up the cup of tea, letting it warm her cool palms. "It... takes some getting used to, yes."

The look in her eyes was one he found startlingly familiar. It was one he saw rather regularly himself. He saw it every morning, in the mirror.

For a second, he's angry - downright enraged. The tortured look that spoke of demons that one couldn't escape... It didn't belong on someone like Ororo.

The silence stretched between them. It wasn't too awkward - he knew she was collecting her thoughts, he was doing the same. But what was he supposed to say?

He didn't find out, because she made the decision for him.

"Thank you, Logan," He blinked, and she clarified, "For all this. Waking me, fixing the tea... You didn't have to."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it, 'Ro. I wanted to do it."

He held up a hand when she began to protest. "Really, darlin'. It's no big deal. From one friend to another, it was no problem."

She managed a weak, grateful smile.

The silence fell between them again, and she sipped at her tea while he nursed his beer. He felt like there was something he needed to say, but he wasn't sure he knew the words to say them with.

"Look," he began quietly, contemplating his beer when he should've been contemplating her eyes. "I don't know what happened that's got you having nightmares this bad, this often. But - take it from someone who's been dealing with this kinda shit for as long as I can remember," which, granted, wasn't all that long, "When you find someone who's willing to talk and listen to you about that burden..."

He raised his eyes to hers. She wasn't looking back - no, her gaze was trained somewhere out the pitchblack of the window... But there was a faint smile there, when she turned to look at him. "... It is eased when shared with a friend."

He found himself sort of-kind of smiling back.

There was a brief pause while he figured out what to say next.

"Right, so, how about this. Every time you get a nightmare like this, you come and get me, okay?" She opened her mouth to protest, but he headed her off. "An' I'll do the same. We can meet here or something, you with your tea and me with my beer."

"And what will that accomplish?" She asked. Her voice was more curious than it was accusatory.

He shrugged. "Can't say it'll chase away the terrors, and sure as hell won't erase what happened in the past, but that's not the point, is it?"

"... No, I suppose not."

It was about sharing the burden.

She smiled, soft and gentle, and one wouldn't have guessed that she was the same woman who woke trembling and shaking from a nightmare not half an hour ago.

They shook on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was entirely inspired by the fact that Logan was rushing into Ororo's bedroom literal seconds after she wakes up from nightmares in the episode _African Storm_. And also by the episode _Ghost of a Chance_ , which features Ororo, Logan (and Charles) reeling from nightmares that Dani (Moonstar) accidentally caused them. If you missed it, there's a part where Ororo is visibly shaken by the experience; Logan calms her down by steadying her trembling hands.


End file.
